You Are My Heartbeat
by Ursula4x
Summary: This is slash and a het with the Burkes and Neal Caffrey. Please don't read if that disturbs you. Neal Caffrey has a genetic medical defect. The stress of being without oxygen triggers severe effects.


Title: You Are My Heartbeat

Author: Ursula and Sonia

Rating: R

Genre and/or Pairing: Threesome: Neal Caffrey, Peter Burke, and Elizabeth Burke

Notes: written as a donation for the Help Haiti lj event... a funny thing happened on the way to this story. The donor ended up writing several bits of the story. Version with Sex Scene at http colon backslash backslash archiveofourown dot org backslash users backslash Ursula backslash works

Spoilers: To Hard Sell

Warnings: Medical squick

Word Count: 14975

Summary: For Sonia

Sonia asked for a story where Neal has a medical syndrome such as "Wolff-Parkinson-White Syndrome". It's a genetic condition resulting in a rapid heartbeat that can be very mild or can cause death. The scene with Moz, talking about his friend is ninety five percent Sonia's writing and there is also quite a bit of Sonia in the first hospital scene.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners including Jeff Eastin and USA television. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

OooOooO

"You're back," Moz said when Neal said he would find and steal the amber music box.

Neal smiled and held up the knight to claim a more powerful piece on the board, but really, thinking about it, he didn't mind that Moz thought of him as a pawn. The pawn was the only piece on the board that could become something different.

Taking a deep breath, Neal realized that he was transforming. He wasn't the Neal Caffrey that Moz had met all those years ago. He wasn't really the Neal that had loved Kate, which hurt to even think about.

So then, that left the question, who the hell was he?

"You okay?" Moz asked, bringing Neal back from his thoughts.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Neal said. "So go find me the box, Moz. For all the rumors, it must be out there."

"There was the story about the collector in Boston, the place where you supposedly took the box from," Moz said, pushing back his glasses. "I'll put out some feelers. I'll need some cash to bait the hook."

"Use the money you liquidated for us to run," Neal said.

Looking disappointed, Moz said, "Peter Burke really has you, doesn't he? Are you sure you really want to find Kate?"

"I need Kate to be safe," Neal said.

"Yeah," Moz said. "I need you to be safe."

What did that mean? Neal stared at Moz who merely smiled and went out the door.

After Moz left, Neal was only alone for a few minutes when someone knocked on the door. He had just realized that he was out of his meds and probably should make sure that Moz picked them up for him.

Neal was sure that Peter assumed he passed out in the vault because of lack of oxygen, but Neal knew otherwise. He realized after thinking about it that he had an episode of his old enemy, Wolff-Parkinson-White Syndrome, due to the stress and excitement as well as the shortage of oxygen. He probably should have mentioned it to Moz.

"Hey, Moz, I'm glad you came back, I think I need you to get..."

To his surprise it was Peter on the other side of the door. Looking at Neal quizzically and Peter said, "What do you need Moz to do? He scurried across the street when he saw me parking my car."

"Oh, nothing," Neal continued the deflection. "I had an idea for a painting and wanted Moz to pick up the supplies. I don't want to wait for mail order. My favorite art supply store is out of my range."

"We can stop on the way if they're still open. We have things to celebrate," Peter said with a wry grin. "I want to take you and El out to eat some place nice." Peter stepped over the threshold of the still open door. "You pick the place and make the reservations."

Forget the meds, Neal decided. He hadn't had an episode since getting out of prison. The incident in the vault probably was a fluke. Peter wandered toward Neal's laptop and said, "Med Net? Now that's a site I'm surprised to see you have open."

Peter turned and gazed at Neal with sharp brown eyes.

"It was Moz. He has added hypochondria to his list of paranoid worries," Neal lied easily.

"Really? Your Moz is an interesting guy," Peter remarked. "Where do you want to go?"

"Let me put a call into Anton at the River Cafe. It's formal, jacket required; tux preferred. Too bad there's not time for El to buy a new dress, but I love that light blue one she wore for that gallery opening." Neal smiled at Peter's expression. The River Cafe was not only one of the most romantic and highly rated restaurants in New York; it was one of the most expensive. "But I can't let you treat. Let me buy dinner. Please?"

Neal could see Peter's parsimony fight with his fear of where Neal was getting the money. Peter shook his head and said, "Nope, I can afford it. My treat, as I said."

Calling the reservation line, after he gave his name, Neal was transferred to Anton himself. The restaurateur was delighted to hear from "the delightful Mr. Caffrey" and instantly offered him a premium table for whatever time he and his party arrived.

While Peter was on his cell speaking to Elizabeth, Neal walked over and cleared the history and turned off the laptop. He did not want Peter to see what Neal had been looking up. He had been struggling with this damn defect for years and only two or three people in the world knew he had it.

Peter ended his call saying, "El says we won't be able to get a table at Anton's. They are booked weeks in advance."

Neal smirked, "Anton says to just come on over. He'll seat us anytime."

The corners of Peter's mouth dropped. "Of course he did."

"Call Elizabeth back and tell her we're on. I'll go change." Neal said.

Looking Peter up and down, Neal offered, "Do you have anything you can change into that's…better?"

"Yes, I have a tux. Now go and change, please. No fancy stuff. I'm hungry."

In the bathroom, Neal called Moz. He said, "Moz, my man, I'm out of Amiodarone."

"Oh shit, I forgot to mention. Dr. Guerre is indisposed. Got caught on income tax violations. I haven't been able to find anyone else to write the script yet. I'm on it, Neal, but lay off the coffee, man. You know what Dr. Guerre said."

"Coffee is my life blood," Neal replied. "Listen, Peter is taking Elizabeth and me to the River Cafe. Have to go. Good thing I had my tux cleaned."

"All cozy again? Want me to start designing your wedding invitations?" Moz asked.

"Yeah, do that. Something tasteful for a threesome," Neal chuckled.

"You are Stockholmed," Moz said, which would have been amusing if he wasn't completely serious. "I should have you kidnapped and deprogrammed."

"Peter would find me. You know that," Neal said. "Gotta go. Find me a new doctor."

OooOooO

Peter's old tux was fine, he thought. No matter what Neal's expression indicated! Besides, Neal's tuxedo was enough to distract anyone from looking past him unless, of course, they were looking at Elizabeth, who did wear the light blue Dior that Neal had given her, the one that seemed so deceptively modest, but which lovingly hugged every curve and enhanced El's natural beauty.

A ridiculously mellow buzz made the entire world glow with happiness. This felt so right.

Neal laughed softly at something El said as they leaned toward each other in the candlelight. Peter couldn't resist reaching out to touch Neal's hand. He had watched Neal nearly die today. Neal glanced at Peter, his gaze softened and he said, "I'm fine, Peter. Don't worry. Have fun. Live it up. We made it. We got him and better yet, we have each other again."

Helplessly, Peter glanced at El, relying on her to interpret his emotions for him. She smiled and petted Peter's other hand. "Yes, we do have each other." With her sexiest smile in place Elizabeth said, "We should have even more of each other."

"Elizabeth!" Neal exclaimed in mock horror.

Smiling, Peter said, "You should never argue with El. She's almost always right."

Ah, surprised Neal was one of Peter's favorite Neal faces. He studied Peter's face obviously for once, unguarded enough to let Peter see he was uncertain.

Reaching out, El covered Neal's hand with her own and Peter captured both beautiful hands.

Neal smiled, delighted, barriers down: lovely, lovely, lovely.

Peter wanted.

OooOooO

Giddy with champagne and flirting, Neal wished there was a dance floor at the cafe. He loved to dance. He must have said something out loud because they went to an after hours nightclub where El and he hit the dance floor. El was as good at dancing as she seemed at everything else. Neal had no idea how Peter found or knew about this Rat Pack themed club, but he must have planned the surprise by the smirk on his face. Peter wouldn't dance but he seemed happy to watch them, sitting there with his legs spread wide, his mouth grinning. The way his eyes burned made Neal feel dizzy...

Oh, shit, no, it wasn't Peter's loving and lusty gaze making Neal dizzy. The beat-beat-beat-skip beat hammered away in his chest. With his palms growing sweaty, he felt faint and stood swaying, with El trying to brace him. Peter was there, at his back, catching him, holding him up.

"Neal?"

"Too much champagne," Neal lied, hating to give Peter this ammunition in the word war they loved.

"Yeah?" Peter said, "Okay, we better get you home to sleep it off."

Neal caught the expression on El's face, watching, curious, doubting. He wasn't sure he had fooled her.

They took a taxi to Neal's place. El stayed downstairs to chat with June while Peter determinedly half-carried Neal upstairs and insisted with drink clumsy hands on getting Neal ready for bed. Neal had to accept the help to keep his story up, but he really feared for his pubic hairs or worse when Peter unzipped him, leaning more heavily into the action than was needed. Pulling back the covers to tuck Neal in, Peter tumbled across Neal for a moment, grinning at him.

"I could sleep just like this," Peter confided.

"But El is waiting downstairs," Neal reminded.

To Neal's surprise, Peter kissed his cheek and said, "I was really worried. Thought I lost you twice. Can't lose you. Can not lose you."

Moved, Neal patted Peter's hand and said, "You won't. I'm fine. We're fine."

If only it was true.

After Peter left, breathing heavily, Neal called Moz looking for help. He needed those pills after all.

Moz didn't answer. Neal put aside the phone and let the mixture of emotional rollercoaster, champagne, and physical weariness drag him promptly off to sleep.

OooOooO

"Peter, I don't think Neal was that drunk," El said.

Looking at his wife blearily, Peter swallowed his second mega dose of vitamins in twenty four hours. He skipped the coffee and washed them down with a can of V-8 despite the queasy feeling in his stomach. He washed the V-8 down with another tall glass of water, and sat still long enough to be sure it would stay down, steeling his nerves to go to work.

Peter said, "He was drunk. I was drunk. Not to mention I took him drinking on top of a long and difficult day, no sleep, and oxygen deprivation. Don't make too much out of it, El."

"I hope you're right," El said, "But keep an eye on him."

"Oh, that's no problem. Keeping an eye on Neal is my second full time job," Peter replied.

Standing, Peter winced. He said, "Remind me to celebrate with bottled water from now on."

Kissing his wife goodbye, Peter glanced at his watch. He was late already and he still had to pick Neal up.

OooOooO

Neal was dressed and waiting when Peter arrived. He sat, looking prim and pale at June's dining room table, sipping from a glass of water. "You should try these, Peter, Moz swears by them."

The bottle was marked 'Probiotic Miracle Cure'. Peter picked up Neal's glass of water, opened the bottle to take two capsules, and took a couple swigs.

"You ready?" Peter asked. "Smart idea not to drink any coffee. It makes things worse."

"I know," Neal said. "Not the first time, I celebrated a little too hard. I don't indulge often, but every once in a while."

"I know," Peter said. "Me too."

In silent agreement, Peter kept the radio off. There was no conversation in the car, just quiet misery in good company.

OooOooO

The aftermath to an arrest was as painstaking if not more so than catching your perp. There was sifting through and documenting evidence. There was meeting with the prosecutor, deciding which charges to file for the maximum sentences. There was interviewing the bit players to see which might be used as state witnesses. Peter spent the day in meetings, some with Neal and some without.

Over the months since their partnership started, Neal had learned to forge Peter's reports. At first, Peter could use almost nothing that Neal wrote. He was too florid in his prose. Lately, Neal had learned to mimic Peter's report writing style perfectly. He was a quick study even if he wasn't happy about the subject matter.

"Can you get the case summary started for me?" Peter asked Neal, on his way to meet with Cal Allen, the prosecutor who was heading the team.

"Sure," Neal said.

Peter looked closely at Neal. There was something off about him today. Turning Elizabeth's words over in his mind, Peter asked, "Are you sure you're fine? I've never seen you look like that even when you were drinking?"

"Yeah, it was probably passing out like that," Neal said. "Can't be good for you, running out of air and we didn't get much sleep the night before. I'm looking forward to the weekend. Catching up on some shuteye."

Dismissing El's worries as her mother hen nature, Peter smiled, could not resist another proprietary pat and went to his meeting. He had a vague memory of kissing Neal's cheek which might be the reason for Neal's odd looks. They would have to talk it, sometime, but Peter could nearly always procrastinate on talking about emotional issues.

OooOooO

The day seemed hideously long. Neal had another episode of arrhythmia, Staggering to the restroom, he hid in a stall until his heart resumed its steady beat. He hated this. The helplessness of your own body completely out of control cannot be described to someone who hasn't faced it. Sitting, fully clothed on the commode, he remembered back to when he was a little kid. Right or wrong he always hoped he would get sick and that his current foster mother would then realize how much she loved him and would adopt him. He had dreamed about Jell-O, ginger ale, special teddy bears, and being held, but it never seemed to happen. The most he got when his heart betrayed him was the grudging care of an over worked foster mother who had to take the day off work for a trip to the emergency room. More often than not, he was dumped at the hospital and waited for her to return after work had ended for the day. It never surprised him when the placement was "reviewed" after one too many attacks. Who the hell wants a kid with something called Wolff-Parkinson-White Syndrome? It sounds contagious, Neal always thought. WPW, as its victims called their illness was nature's bitter response to his foolish childhood wish.

Why him? Neal felt a sort of entitlement. The world had handed him more than a few lemons. Could he help it if he decided to steal a little sugar from the world to make lemonade? Having this bizarre heart ailment was not fair.

Through the magic of the foster care system, like Alice's trip down the rabbit hole, the information about Neal's condition disappeared over time. By the time he was eighteen and had aged out of the system, Neal had exercised and trained his body, even when he was specifically told not to, slowly morphing him from a weak, sickly looking underweight boy into what he was now. Yes, his condition had reared its ugly head from time to time but that was to be expected. With the right medication, he was fine. Really.

A bad episode had almost resulted in Neal being caught. He was on his way out of an air duct after completing a jewelry heist when he suddenly felt his heart race out of control. He passed out, waking up hours later in the shaft. He was stuck in the shaft for nearly a day, waiting for the hubbub to die down. Moz had been checking the police reports in a panic, afraid he had been captured or even killed.

It was then that he asked help from Moz, who had known for several years about Neal's problem. Telling Kate the truth about his untamed heart was difficult; for Kate, Neal wanted to be seven feet tall and invulnerable.

Having been unable to find the meds he needed on his own, it was Moz who found Doctor Guerre. That was also the first time Kate did a disappearing act. She told Neal she was looking for an old friend who was a doctor, but she did not have any leads when she came home with empty pockets. By that time, Doctor Guerre had Neal on his prescription and the symptoms had abated. In time, Neal was able to go on with life as usual, right down to drinking coffee even though Doctor Guerre said to avoid it.

As long as Neal stayed on his Amiodarone, he was all right.

Things did become challenging when Peter Burke seemed to be intuiting every move Neal made. More than once, Neal had to cut and run, leaving behind nearly everything. Hiding out, he had run out of meds several times. Amiodarone needed to build up in the system to work properly and it took a while to stop working even after Neal stopped taking. Sometimes Neal could go weeks or even months without a symptom, but the greater the stress, the more likely an episode.

One of the reasons Peter captured Neal was that he was out of meds and had been for two weeks. Peter had executed an arrest warrant for him over the bond forgery. Neal's fingerprints were found on one of the plates. Neal was sure he had never handled them without gloves, but that was another question he did not want to look at closely.

Neal had spotted Peter on his way up the stairs to the cheap boarding room where Neal had found refuge. Kate had gone to some sort of spa for the week and Moz was tracking down Dr. Guerre to get Neal's medications. Neal was alone in his hideout, which meant he only had to worry about himself. Neal had gone out the window and walked on the ledge to the roof. He proceeded to leap over to the next roof top as he had planned. The dizzy spell hit him as he was running for the entrance to the maintenance room to escape. He had caught himself, stumbled, and suddenly Peter Burke was flying across the space. Neal had recovered just enough to run but, instead of shooting him, Peter warned him, put away his pistol, chased and tackled Neal.

Grinning like a kid playing a game, Peter had frisked Neal thoroughly; rolled Neal over once he was cuffed, helped him up, smiled even wider and said, "Gotcha."

After Peter had read Neal his rights, they sat and discussed theoretical heists as if they were old friends until the rest of his team came up the stairs and surrounded them.

Captured.

OooOooO

Peter came back from his meeting, looking harried. Despite not feeling well, Neal had finished the report. It read exactly like Peter would have written it. Peter scanned it, looked up, very pleased, and said, "It's a print. You're as good as Diana."

Knowing that was high praise, Neal shot Peter a smile.

"Thanks for this. As soon as I get this report to Hughes, I'm ready to call it a night. I was not looking forward to writing that on top of everything else," Peter said.

Another long look, "Your color is off."

"How close are you looking?" Neal teased. "I'm fine, Peter. Get that report turned in and let me know how Hughes likes our work."

With a sheepish smile, Peter nodded and walked across to his printer. One of the privileges of his rank was having an individual printer as well as a private office. At Neal's desk down in the bull pen, he had to queue up with the rest of the junior agents to use one frequently jammed laser printer. He much preferred doing Peter's work and using Peter's always-working newer printer.

While Peter was gone, Neal spent the time putting in another call to Moz. Moz answered this time and said, "I have a lead on a doctor who might be willing to do some side business in New Jersey. I'm on my way to a meeting. Just remember. Take it easy, no coffee, nothing crazy, rest. Honestly, Neal, I think you might need to tell Burke. You might be getting worse."

"Just find me a new doctor," Neal said. "I can't tell Peter about this. He made a deal with a guy he can send under cover anytime he wants. He won't do that if he knows I have a "problem". He can't. Even if Peter wants to keep his deal, Hughes wouldn't under those conditions."

"All right," Moz said. "Just take it easy. If Burke wants to send you on a new mission, play sick. Right? Got it? Neal, you know, man, you know..."

It must be really serious if Moz was getting maudlin while he was sober. Neal said, "I know. You're the one I can trust."

"You know it," Moz said. "I'll call if I can broker a deal with this new doctor."

"Thanks, Moz," Neal said. He spent a few moments cleaning up Peter's desk.

Neal Caffrey, secretary of the month.

Peter came back and said, "Hughes was pleased. I could tell because there were four less scowl lines on his forehead than usual. Ready to go home?"

"More than," Neal said. "I am tired. I will admit that."

"Well, I always said a tired FBI consultant is a good FBI consultant," Peter said.

"Is that what you say?" Neal replied. "I could think of better ways to tire me out.'

"Is that so?" Peter said softly. "Someday, we have to really talk."

Well, that was interesting. As Neal headed for the door, Peter touched his back as they went through it. Pride of ownership, Neal thought. It worked for both of them.

OooOooO

As Peter thumbed through the sports events on cable, Agent Landry called to remind him about the Ranger's game. Peter called Neal and asked, "Hey, thanks again for the Ranger's tickets. Are you sure you don't want to go? I saw a couple tickets for sale on Craig's List."

Sounding very tired, even to his own ears, Neal said, "No, I'm painting. Spending a quiet weekend at home with Imperial Blue and Champion White."

"Are you sure you're okay? You haven't been yourself since you passed out at Phillips' place," Peter said.

"Yeah, I'm okay. Don't worry," Neal said. "You sound like Moz. He is always hovering over me."

"Someone has to do your worrying for you," Peter said. "Okay, thanks for the tickets. May as well show Landry a good time."

Jones had bought a ticket for the game so he joined the two senior agents to watch the Rangers play.

"What's with Neal," Jones asked when Landry made a run for the concession stand.

"What do you mean?" Peter queried.

"He's been weird lately," Jones said. "Quiet. Almost withdrawn. At least for him."

Peter shrugged. "He's got a lot on his mind."

"Hope he gets back to himself," Jones said.

"Me too," Peter admitted. "Me too."

"Not that he cons me," Jones said. "He's just different."

That made Peter smile. He said, "I would agree. Neal is very different."

Landry came back and the game restarted with a spectacular offensive play against the Penguins. Peter grabbed another can of ale and lost himself in the game.

OooOooO

Monday morning came too soon. Peter drove to get Neal and was surprised and a little disappointed to find him drinking juice instead of coffee. Peter loved June's coffee. Peter loved coffee, period.

Sitting at the rooftop table in the brilliant morning sun, Peter inquired, "Did June run out of coffee?"

"No, I've been having trouble sleeping since my last time in prison. Guess it affected me more than I thought it did, going back inside," Neal said.

Peter studied Neal's face, not that he could always read Neal, but he prided himself that he could scope the truth from the pretty wide eyed gaze more often than most people could. He nodded and said, "That's probably smart. You finish that painting? I'm sure El would love to have a Neal Caffrey original hanging on our living room wall."

Lighting up, Neal said, "Really? She would? No, I didn't finish it, but I would love to paint something just for her."

"Good, I'll tell her you're coming over for dinner tonight," Peter said. "You can ask her what she would like. El makes the decisions about the house."

"Oh, I knew that," Neal said. "Like whether the toilet seat stays up or down."

"It's just common courtesy," Peter said. "Didn't Kate..."

At the way that Neal's face went blank, Peter said, "Sorry. I shouldn't have mentioned her."

"You didn't mean any harm," Neal said slowly. "And, no, I can't remember Kate trying to change me."

Trying to lighten the mood, Peter said, "Probably because you were the perfect man."

"We were never exactly domestic," Neal ventured. "Except for when we first met, before everything happened, when I was still the poor art student. Even then, we lived in a dream world until…she couldn't live with just dreams anymore. She grew up in a comfortable middle class family. She wasn't prepared to have nothing. I should have...I wanted to give her everything."

"Yeah, I get it," Peter said, but he didn't. Not really. He knew that El would have made do or, knowing her, she would have gone out and figured out a way to make them a good living.

Finishing their breakfast quickly, they went out to Peter's Taurus.

Neal smiled and said, "If I had married El instead of you marrying her, I would either be a famous artist by now or we would be living it up in Belize and you would never have caught me."

"Yes, the two of you would have been a frightening pair," Peter said. Quietly, he offered, "My wife really likes you."

Grinning widely, Neal said, "She's not the only one with good taste." Waiting for Peter to spare him a glance, he continued, "You like me, too, Peter. I remember that kiss on my cheek. You are a cute drunk."

"I would have landed it on your mouth if my reflexes weren't off," Peter said, opening the door for Neal.

"Thank you, kind sir," Neal said. "And thank you for not putting your hand on top of my head this time like you were arresting me."

"Yeah? Well, this is the new improved Peter Burke. Determined to win your trust."

"And my heart?" Neal teased.

"That too," Peter said.

OooOooO

The next week was mostly occupied with getting ready for the arraignments. Phillips and Reed were both pointing fingers at each other, trying to plea bargain. Brad Charles was willing to sell them both out and throw in his grandmother to get into a nice, safe country club prison. Phillip's body guard and staff were also willing to testify. Not a loyal bone in the pack of jackals.

Peter put Neal back on cold case files and was surprised he buckled down without bitching. Something wasn't right, but the hair on the back of Peter's neck didn't have any logical clues to offer.

Jones came into Peter's office with a cup of coffee and said with puzzlement, "Since when did Caffrey start drinking decaf?"

"Oh, he's been having trouble sleeping," Peter said.

"Yeah?" Jones said. "Is he sick or something?"

"No," Peter said. Then he frowned and said, "Jones, let me know if you observe anything else off key about him, will ya?"

"Do you think he's up to something?" Jones said.

"No, I think he was disturbed by what happened last week," Peter said. "I'd like to minimize his undercover work for a while. PTSD is no joking matter."

"Agreed," Jones said. "I'll keep my eye on him. Hey, if you need someone undercover the next case, give me a try."

"You?" Peter asked.

"Yeah, me, "Jones said, a scowl marking his usually placid face. "Neal's been giving me some tips. People can grow, Peter. Give me a chance."

Taking another look at Jones, Peter nodded, "If the right role presents, it's yours."

Peter hoped if he had to send someone in, that it would be Jones. Jones wanted it and somehow, he felt that Neal wasn't ready, whether it was PTSD or something else; he wasn't willing to take chances with Neal's safety.

Especially not after watching him nearly suffocate.

Neal was not the only one having trouble living with that fact.

OooOooO

Dinner was fun and Neal forgot about his ailment for the duration. El and he finally agreed on a Monet style with green and amber tones to compliment their furnishings. Neal had in mind putting El into the picture which he envisioned as his own version of Monet's 'The Stroll'. Hell, he was even willing to risk being accused of sentimentality and include Satchmo who would bring a nice mellow gold tone to the painting.

El had tried her hand at a series of amuse bouche, all of which had Neal's vote. He had especially liked the piegata of fig, Parma ham, and camembert. When Neal enthused over the treat, Peter gave Neal his serving, which Neal found sweet of him. The main dish was apricot brandy glazed ham. Neal found his appetite was better in good company. He knew that good nutrition was part of the healthy regime he needed to follow to minimize symptoms, but his appetite was unpredictable. Sometimes he wanted to eat all day and sometimes he couldn't even look at food without feeling queasy.

"Coffee?" Peter offered.

"What? No, a glass of wine would be wonderful," Neal said.

El smiled and went to pour. Peter was gazing at Neal with that calculating expression. Neal asked "Do I have something in my teeth?"

"No, I'm just wondering why you don't like coffee anymore," Peter said.

"I told you," Neal said, "I'm avoiding it for now."

"I have this friend, Geraldine," El said.

"Geraldine?" Peter and Neal repeated as one.

"It's a perfectly lovely name," El claimed. "She is a therapist who specializes in Post Traumatic Stress and stop making that face, Neal. It's not a weakness to ask for help."

"We are not going there," Neal said. He got up and flopped down on the couch next to Peter. Peter put an arm around him which felt warm and wonderful. "I don't have PTSD. I'm fine."

"Oh, the two of you!" El said. "Men."

Peter smirked and said, "You love us."

"I love you," El said. "I love Neal and I want him to take care of himself."

"I do," Neal argued. "Witness that I am giving up coffee. Hey, give me some credit. Let's do something. Do either of you know how to play Brisca?"

Peter shrugged and went for cards. "I'm always ready and willing to learn new things."

He just missed seeing the matching eyerolls from his wife and friend.

OooOooO

Moz was waiting with a miserable expression when Neal arrived home. The doctor he had heard about had been busted for over-prescribed pain medication. It was back to the drawing board. Neal was getting worried. He wanted back to his old life. He wanted coffee and he wanted to stop worrying about this fucking malfunction.

"I thought I'd spend the night," Moz said.

"You get evicted again"?" Neal asked.

"No, I just like being here," Moz replied. "Like old times, before Kate."

"You never really liked her," Neal observed, stripping out of his work suit, which was a little worse the wear for the long day and a romp on the living room floor with Satchmo. In other words, he had been fed, wined, and entertained.

"I never said anything," Moz said.

"You don't cover your tells like I can," Neal said.

"Yeah, well, you don't cover your tells with me, Neal," Moz replied. "You give away a lot to Burke too. How long did it take the man to figure out you were angry with him?"

"I wasn't trying to hide it," Neal claimed, changing to his favorite worn soft sleep pants.

"Right," Moz said, getting the blanket he had claimed for his own. He appeared to plan to sleep in his clothing, a deplorable habit, but a Moz was a feral creature, hard to train.

OooOooO

"We have a new case," Peter announced when he picked Neal up the next morning.

"I could tell by your glow," Neal remarked. "What do we have?"

"Romance," Peter said.

"Oh, my favorite," Neal said. "Who am I playing?"

"You are playing coach to Jones," Peter said. "What we have is a lovely African American woman who specializes in targeting lonely African American professionals with access to credit card information. Unless you have the ability to become another race, you are on the sidelines. I'm really pleased as Jones was asking me for an undercover role."

"Oh, I have to take Jones shopping; you know that," Neal said, eyes dancing.

"Just don't corrupt him," Peter said. "He already likes you too much."

"Jealous, Peter?" Neal said.

"Cautious," Peter said. "I've always considered Clinton Jones as a solid agent without a hint of imagination. In less than six months, you have suddenly made him this guy who is lusting after undercover work."

"I pride myself at bringing out the best in people," Neal said. "You, for instance, I think I inspired you to become a better agent in your quest to capture me."

"But you're mine now," Peter said, his voice full of tender undertones.

"True, very true," Neal said.

OooOooO

Jones was grinning from ear to ear. Neal was happy for him and happy that Clinton was asserting himself to Peter. Watching Neal bicker and question Peter had been good for the easy going agent. Jones finally realized that Peter had more respect for people who argued with him. "The most important thing is to believe in yourself. You aren't playing the character in your con, you are him. Get it?"

"Sure. So I am Craig Garrison, workaholic who is just starting to realize that he is thirty some years old and doesn't have a girl friend or much of a life. I'm a highly respected guy at the First National Loan. I bring my laptop home every night and work after dinner. Lately though, I hang out at the Riviera Club, hoping to meet someone special."

"Perfect," Neal said. "You will need an apartment to use."

"Not my own place?" Jones asked.

"Never shit in your own nest," Neal said. "Besides you are a different person. You should dress, live, eat differently. You are your character for the duration."

"Okay, yeah, I can do that," Jones said. "Peter, do we have anything that I can use near First National or the Riviera Club?"

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure there is a condo that we still own. Have a look and see what else you might need. Get a clean laptop. The lady is a hacker so what should be on that laptop is the life of Craig Garrison."

"Craig," Neal said. Jones did not respond. "Garrison?"

Jones finally twigged and said, "Oh, yeah, right."

"For the next few days, we call you nothing but Craig or Garrison," Neal directed.

"Cool," Jones said. "Now we go shopping. Brooks Brothers."

"I suppose that's okay for a midlevel executive," Neal said. "Let's go. Hey, Peter can you let the marshals know I am with Jones."

"Yeah, I will. Neal, no shenanigans," Peter said.

"Yes, dad, my little friend, Clinton, and I will be very good."

"Don't you mean 'Craig'?" Jones said, mischief in his eyes.

"Absolutely! Good catch," Neal said as he clapped his padawan on the shoulder.

Jones led the way out the door. Neal looked back to see Peter smiling fondly at both of them.

OooOooO

After a little more debate, Peter decided that Neal would go undercover as Jones' best friend. Surprisingly, Jones wasn't insulted. He seemed to like the idea that he would be working with Neal. Peter shuddered at the thought of dealing with Neal and Neal redux in the form of Jones unbound. Life could get much more interesting than he was prepared to experience.

Neal was without anklet again. The US Marshals had sent a memo asking if Peter was sure that he wanted Neal in the program since he was so frequently off the tracker and had not ever strayed away during a mission.

This time is was Lauren Cruz's job to monitor Neal. She rolled her eyes as she heard Neal flirting with a woman who had a very sultry voice. A moment later, an even sexier voice said, "You look like a good dancer.

Gesturing, Peter indicated for Cruz to turn up the volume. Jones' voice said, "I am a good dancer. Want to see?"

Jones had a bug on him too. Peter didn't want to lose him if things went south. He smiled as he listened to Jones flirting, the woman constantly moving it a step forward until Jones was asking her back to his apartment.

After Jones left, Neal knocked on the stakeout van door; this time it was tricked out as a telephone repair unit. Neal waltzed in and sank into a seat. "That Jones is a smooth mover. I think you should can me and hire him."

Giving Neal a fond smile, Peter said, "I'll take that in mind."

"You're blushing," Neal remarked to Lauren.

"Well, yes, it's Jones," Cruz said. "I feel like I'm spying on a friend."

"Smooth," Neal appreciated as he heard the rustling of clothing, the quick inhalations and the deeper sighs of love making. "What's the problem? You're always listening in on me, aren't you?"

"But you are an exhibitionist," Lauren said. "An outrageous, shameless one."

"Jones knows we're listening," Neal said.

Having mercy, Peter took the earphones from Lauren and gave them to Neal. "Jones is your monster, Dr. Frankenstein. Keep notes. Maybe you'll learn something."

Neal rolled his eyes, but buckled down to the task.

OooOooO

The double con went well. That is, it went well to the last few minutes, when something made Jones' Mata Hari suspicious. She grabbed Jones' briefcase and laptop to run out of the apartment.

Choosing the wiser course for once, Neal had every intention of staying put as he was told. He sat on the bumper of the van, wishing for popcorn as he monitored the action. His eyes caught a flicker of movement near the dumpster and he pulled off the earphones when he saw that 'Mata Hari' had somehow slipped past the agents. He strolled toward her like he was bumping into her by accident and said, "Jean, how nice to see you."

It didn't work. Out came a gun. Almost instantly, Neal felt one of those errant flashes. All the adrenaline in his body rushed to his head, his heart beat sped out of control and he couldn't pull enough air into his lungs to supply himself properly. Neal found himself in the unenviable position of reaching out to a fleeing felon for help. He grabbed at his chest with one hand, flinging the other out to "Jean".

As he crumpled to the dirty concrete, Neal heard a shot with his fading consciousness.

His last conscious thought was about how angry Peter was going to be with him.

OooOooO

A few moments later, Neal was sitting on the edge of the van again, this time with an oxygen mask over his face and his pulse being taken by a pretty, but very serious medic. "You fainted?"

"Yeah, I'm really not a gun guy," Neal said blithely.

Scowling, Peter said, "But you handled it before. You never fainted. You hardly flinched."

"What can I say? Maybe you're right," Neal said. "Maybe it is PTSD."

Peter's mouth pursed. His eyebrows rose faintly. He cocked his head as if listening to some invisible lie detector. "I want you to schedule a check up. No arguments."

Holding up his finger, Peter shook his head, blocking all of Neal's efforts to put him off. "I want you to have a checkup by the end of the week. I don't buy fainting. I don't think you suddenly have so much trouble sleeping that you have to give up coffee. You love coffee. Uh-uh. You're going if I have to drag you there in chains."

"You are a real humanitarian, Peter," Neal said as the medic let him go.

OooOooO

Over the next week, Peter asked Neal every day if he made the appointment. He noticed that Neal was trying to evade him. Unfortunately with the Phillips trial opening this week, evasion was easy to do. Peter spent most of this week at the court house or meeting with the prosecutor.

The judge had a sentencing that Friday so Peter was back at the office. He leaned over the railing and saw Neal walking with Jones. Neal sometimes sauntered in a deliberate sexy stroll, but most of the time he walked briskly, impatient to get to his destination. This time, Neal's pace was lagging to the point where Jones turned around and said something which Neal deflected with a smile.

Peter nodded. Elizabeth was right. Neal was sick. He was sure of it.

After making a phone call in his office, Peter walked down the stairs and motioned for Jones to take a walk. He took Neal by the elbow and said, "I have something for you to do."

"Sure, Peter, let me get my coat and..."

"Here's your coat," Peter said as he handed Neal his jacket.

Looking trapped, Neal's eyes moved rapidly. Peter took his handcuffs out and dangled them. "Not just a sex toy anymore, Neal," Peter whispered.

That earned a swift smile before Neal whined, "Don't I have any rights?"

"Let's say it together," Peter replied. "I own you."

"For the next four years," Neal completed, "but I had no idea that meant my personal life too."

"It especially meant your personal life," Peter said. "Come. I made an appointment for you this morning."

"You can't. You couldn't have!"

"I'm your next of kin, remember?"

"That's for if I'm not conscious to make a decision, Peter. This is not fair," Neal said as Peter hustled him toward the elevator to the underground parking.

OooOooO

There did not seem to be a way out. Peter wouldn't even let go of Neal for one moment. Neal's mind raced, trying to find a way to con his way out of the appointment as they sat down in Peter's car.

Damn it. Neal felt the telltale shortness of breath. Trying to calm himself down, he thought of a sunny day at the beach, a smooth, cold Pina Colada, anything to try and talk his body out of its latest betrayal. Like that ever worked, he thought wryly. The cold sweat on his face dripping, he turned to Peter, who was paying attention to the traffic on Broadway.

Shifting in his seat, Neal gasped, "Peter…"

Glancing over at his passenger, Peter frowned, "What's wrong with you? Should I pull over and call an ambulance? Neal, talk to me!"

Leaving one hand on the steering wheel, Peter reached out to Neal and grabbed his shoulder.

Neal grabbed on to Peter's hand, digging his fingers into the soft skin.

Neal felt red filling his eyes, bursts of light from his oxygen-starved brain briefing reminding him of a fireworks display he once saw at the Casino in Monaco, his chest felt as if a gorilla was tap dancing on it. His body was like lead. He couldn't...

"Peter, it's my……" Neal could feel himself sinking away, his vision graying out.

He was falling.

OooOooO

Waking up, Neal was aware of someone holding his hand and sniffling. For one moment, his mind leaped to Kate, but when he opened his eyes, he saw Elizabeth.

Pushing back just a glimmer of disappointment, Neal squeezed El's hand and said, "Hey, I'm all right."

"You are not all right," Elizabeth declared. "Why, Neal? You know we care about you. Why hide something so dangerous from the people who care about you."

Peter stepped into view. He did not look happier and Neal clung to El a little harder. El, of course, caught that and said, "Peter, could you look a little less like you are about to drag Neal out of bed and spank him?"

That comment made Neal laugh and then cough. He had a nasal cannula taped to his face. He batted at it and said, "El, can you get them to take this off me. I'm fine now."

Peter waved an empty bottle that had contained his Amiodarone in his face. "This tells me you're not fine."

"It's not for me," Neal stated. The falsehood just dangled in the air between the three of them.

"It's for Simon Lester, which is you," Peter said. "I know Lester was one of the names you used for art deals. You have this prescription but it's empty which doesn't make it much use. How long has it been empty, Neal?"

"About three weeks," Neal said. "I had a few pills left before the thing with Tulane and the diamond. I didn't have them when I was on the run. I felt okay until I passed out in the vault. I've been having a few problems since then."

"This Wolff-Parker-White thing is not just a nuisance, Caffrey. You jumped out of a fucking window with a heart condition. This isn't some allergy, Neal. You could have died!" Peter lectured.

"It's Parkinson and it's no big deal. Usually." Neal said.

Pushing a frustrated hand over his face, Peter said, "You had an episode when I caught you, didn't you? I always wondered about that, why you staggered after that jump across the roof. Thought you might have turned an ankle, but now I know."

Now Peter knew. Neal closed his eyes, walling Peter's gaze out. He couldn't stop himself from begging. "Peter, please don't tell Hughes. Please. He'll send me back. Please don't send me back." Neal could feel the tremors building in his chest. He tried to calm himself but nothing was going to stop this one from coming to fruition.

Elizabeth grasped his hand tighter; "You're with us now, sweetie. No one's sending you anywhere."

Neal's breathing was making a rattling sound in his chest. "Please don't send me back."

Peter looked up at the monitor to which Neal was connected. The reading for his HR or heart rate was now at 122, irregular and climbing.

Moving Elizabeth away from Neal's bedside, Peter sat closer to his friend.

He stated as calmly as possible, "Neal, look at me."

Neal managed to follow the direction and looked at his agent.

"We will work this out. Nothing will change between the bureau or us without me making it happen. Understand?" Peter touched his face while placing the other hand on Neal's stomach. The gesture slowed Neal's breathing some but his heart had its own agenda.

Peter recognized the wild look in Neal's eyes and called to Elizabeth, who was standing right behind, "Honey, find a doctor."

Neal slurred, "No, no. It will stop…"

Before anyone had moved, an alarm on the monitor sounded and a nurse came rushing in. Taking one look at Neal, she said to the Burkes, "Please step outside."

Elizabeth opened her mouth to ask to stay and the nurse, a small Filipina woman, cut her off.

"Now."

As the worried couple opened the door, a medical team flew into the room.

Peter and El stood outside the door for a quiet moment before moved slowly towards the waiting area.

Sitting on the faux leather couch, Peter placed an arm around his wife's shoulders.

"He's really sick, isn't he? This thing could kill him."

Peter sighed and tried to reassure her. "He'll be fine, El. I'm sure, now that he has a real doctor and treatment; he'll be fine."

El gave him a small grin, "You really are gone on him, aren't you?"

Muttering slightly, he said," I'm taking the Fifth."

"Would it make you feel any better to know that I think he's in love with you?"

Shocked by the conversation, Peter begged, "El, I…later... okay?"

Patting his thigh and leaning her head on his shoulder, El was kind enough to let it go for now.

When the doctor finally came out of Neal's room, he told the El and Peter that his meds were adjusted again. A new medication was added and they would see over the next few days how it worked to stabilize his heartbeat. The doctor also gave them information about a procedure that should end Neal's problem. After a consultation that last about twenty minutes, he let them go back in to see Neal, with the proviso that the only discussion they would have is about the weather.

Peaking around the door, Peter and Elizabeth entered the room slowly.

Neal was now in a half sitting position, looking pale and rumpled but, glancing up at the monitor again, Peter could see his heartbeat was down to a sustainable 78.

Wavering at them, Neal whispered, "Come closer. Shouting is not on the menu for me right now."

El stepped forward and kissed his forehead gently, "Oh sweetie."

Peter was at the foot of the bed, scrutinizing Neal intensely.

The pale skin, the clammy hands, the dark circles under his eyes, the slightly irregular breathing. How could he have missed this for all these weeks? Peter wondered.

Not wanting him to worry any longer than necessary, Peter said, "I won't bring this to Hughes' attention. The hospital is billing your Black card so that should keep it out off the record for now. Someday we really need to talk about the limit on that thing. It's pretty high for a guy with no means of support but a government stipend."

Grinning a smaller version of his megawatt smile, Neal offered, "Hey, The Greatest Cake is really taking off. Check the profit report."

"It's true, honey, I used them for Pink's birthday party and the cake was fantastic!" El enthused.

"El, whose side are you on?" Peter said.

"My own, which is on the side of the pursuit of happiness," El said, "and liberty for Neal."

Looking up from under his lashes, Neal said in a frightened voice, "The doctor wants to cut me open."

Pulling her chair closer, El said, "Neal, that's not true. You do need surgery, honey but it's called an abalation. They make a small incision and use a catheter to burn out the problem. Doctor Hudson said it was a good option for you. Other than the misfiring electrical circuit in your heart, you are in good health. Chances are you could walk out of the hospital after that cured with no more attacks."

Neal nodded and added, "Yeah, I know. It's been an option for awhile but when you're being chased by a brilliant FBI agent, stopping for a hospital visit and surgery was inconvenient." Looking up at Peter, they both smirked at that last remark.

Neal had done the research. Sure he wanted to be done with WPW, but having the surgery had meant telling Peter he had the disease in the first place. He could have it now that Peter knew. They still needed to figure out what to do about Hughes.

"Calm down," Peter said. "We can figure it out. If you can afford to pay for the surgery on your own, we can bypass insurance."

"You're saying I can use my theoretical funds?" Neal said.

"Sure, all those profits from the Greatest Cake....by the way, that is the world's worst pun," Peter remarked.

"I don't know, honey," El said. "I thought it was very clever."

Chuckling, Neal blurted out, "I love you, El."

"I love you right back," El said.

The soft look in El's eyes, the slight almost trembling smile made Neal believe she meant it.

Wow.

It was almost more than he could handle right now. Neal let his eyes flutter close and he said, "Really tired. Hey, can you let Moz know I'm okay? His number is..."

"I have his number," Peter said. "Boy, do I have his number."

OooOooO

Driving home, it took Peter one try to reach Moz. "Mr. Haversham, I would like to meet you at my house. It's about Pip. He needs you."

"Burke? I told you not to use this number again! Now, I've got to throw away this phone after we meet," Moz said. "Wait, what's happening with Pip? Did you get him in trouble again?"

"At my house, you know where it is," Peter said, hanging up.

"He sounds so paranoid," El said. "Neal has interesting friends."

"Of whom, Moz is one of the tamer ones," Peter said. "We can trust Moz. He loves Neal."

"Neal is very lovable," El said.

"I've noticed," Peter said.

Agreeing El said, "I've noticed you noticing."

"Is this going to be the time for that talk?" Peter asked.

"I think that talk will have to wait until Neal has a chance to have a conversation without risking a heart attack," El said.

"You sound as if you have this all planned," Peter remarked as he parked the Taurus.

"Someone has to," El said. "I tried to leave it up to you and Neal, but you are both so hopelessly male. If either of you would have made the first move, Neal and you would have been able to trust each other enough to communicate instead of circling each other with stiff tails and hackles."

"You think that going to bed is the first step to trust? You are romantic," Peter said.

"No, I am your wife, the woman you love," El said. "I know you. You would never sleep with anyone you didn't trust. I think I know Neal. He flirts, he poses, but he really doesn't enjoy sex unless he loves the person he is with. He loves you, Peter, and I think he is falling in love with me. So that makes three of us, an odd number, but we could do this. We should do this."

Opening the door for El, Peter reached for her, old fashioned, but Peter knew that El liked it. The manners came naturally to Peter who spent summers with his grandmother who ran a charm school and insisted that Peter always display the best behavior in front of her students and their parents.

As for El's idea, Peter didn't know whether to be awed or terrified. El was her own person, always had been. She had a great big loving heart that had room for the world. He believed she had room to love Neal and him. He knew he loved Neal and he knew he wanted Neal. Was he willing to share his precious wife though? That was the question. Peter had always known he did not deserve El so losing her to another man was only a matter of how much El loved him.

Inside their home, El seemed to have read his mind again, another frightening skill she had. She turned to Peter and hugged him. "I picked the best man on earth. I'm not choosing Neal over you. I'm choosing Neal and you. I know you need him and he needs you even more."

"Okay," Peter said, going to let Satchmo out of his crate. "Thank you, El."

"Maybe I could get a group rate from Geraldine," El mused. "I still think Neal has PTSD issues and you, my darling nearly-perfect husband, have self esteem issues. You don't seem to realize how handsome, how intelligent, funny, sweet, charming and dear you really are."

What could Peter do but smile sheepishly and blush.

His El.

OooOooO

Standing on the stoop, his hat in hand, Moz looked as if he wanted to run. On second glance, it was one of Neal's hats that Moz was carrying. "I'm here. What's going on with Neal?"

"He's in the hospital," Peter said, watching Moz's already pallid skin grow paler and the light dim from his bulging eyes behind the thick glasses.

"What? Which hospital? Don't be an asshole! Where is he?" Moz said, looking as if he wanted to strangle Peter.

El took over. She said, "Come inside, Mozzie. That's what Neal calls you, right? Mozzie? Come in. Neal is fine. He had a serious episode of WPW and is at St. Vincent's. He's stable. They want to keep him and run more tests."

Moz obeyed, allowing El to show him in and take his coat. He kept Neal's hat though.

Sitting on the couch, Moz turned the hat over and over in his hands. "I knew. I knew this was going to happen."

"So why the hell didn't you tell him to do something sensible?" Peter asked. "You're his best friend."

"Am I?" Moz said sadly. "Are you sure?"

"My relationship with Neal is different from yours," Peter said.

"Before it gets too heavy, let's have some sandwiches and coffee, OK?," El said.

Moz shrugged and followed El tamely to the kitchen although he squinted at the fully lit room. Peter stopped a laugh from escaping as he imagined he saw a little puff of smoke come from Moz's bald head because of the bright lights.

"Nice place," Moz said. "Real suburbia."

"Thank you, I guess," El said, busy with bread and slices of roast beef. "What do you like on your sandwich? Onions? Pickles? Horseradish? Mustard?"

"Horseradish and mustard," Moz said. "Neal is always talking about your cooking, Mrs. Burke."

"Call me El. Mrs. Burke sounds like a school marm," El said.

"Sure," Moz said, staring at Peter with a territorial look. "You going to turn Neal in? Tell your boss that he's not fit for duty?"

"No," Peter said. "Why don't you tell me why you didn't let me know that Neal had a heart defect? I could have gotten Neal killed a dozen times over the last six months."

"Because I am the one Neal trusts," Moz snapped. "Hell, less than two weeks ago...he was going to..."

"He was going to run?" Peter said. It only confirmed what Peter had suspected.

"Can you blame him? You threaten him with prison at every turn. He fucking cares about you. You should have seen him when he thought you had Kate. He was crazy. I have hardly ever seen him like that," Moz said. "You use the hell out of him, but it never makes a difference. You still treat him like he's not living up to his end."

The only reason Peter didn't give into the urge to pick Moz up and shake him was that Moz had a point. Yes, Peter didn't make the final call and AD Hughes still watched every move they made. Hughes treated the deal as a day by day bargain with Neal having no real sway in how it was enforced.

It pissed Peter off that Neal was actually doing more than he promised. Initially, Neal had only been expected to consult. Peter didn't know how it happened that on more and more cases, Neal was being sent under cover or was in the line of fire. It was insane.

"I don't get it," El said, plunking thick sandwiches down on plates garnished with radish florets and pickles. "Why would Neal risk his life by going without medication?"

"That's a good question," Peter said.

Moz huffed out a puff of air and said with rising impatience, "We live our entire lives off the books, G-Man. Look, I had a friend who was diabetic. He didn't live your nine to five Subaru van driving lifestyle."

"I drive a Taurus," Peter interjected. "It's a great car."

Rolling his eyes, Moz continued, "So my man got his insulin anyway he could. Once he owed the wrong fella some money and the fella put the word out to the "street" not to sell my friend anything until he got his money."

Peter frowned, "Yeah, yeah. Okay, I get it. So your friend stole something to try and pay off the guy, right? Was he busted for it?"

They both saw a cloud form over Mozzie's face as he rose from their kitchen table. Deliberately turning his back on them, he placed both hands on the rim of the sink and leaned against it. The little man whispered, almost to himself, "For a guy who caught Neal twice, you're pretty fucking stupid sometimes."

Peter's mouth popped open in surprise then closed in recognition of the grim truth. Looking over at Elizabeth, he saw confusion on her usually serene face.

Covering her slight hand with his larger, rougher one, he quietly informed her, "He HAD a friend."

Elizabeth recoiled a little in shock, "Oh God, I'm so sorry, Mozzie."

Hanging his head, Moz offered, "The guy he owed even shut down me and Neal from helping him. My buddy lingered for a few days and died in a coma. My friends, I've experienced the very definition of helplessness."

Peter found himself thinking, poor Moz. He loved that guy. All his jazz hides a very bruised heart.

Moz turned and faced the Burkes. Flushing under El's sympathetic gaze, he went on. "That's the price we pay. People don't understand. Guys like us can't give anyone ammunition against us. Anything that can be used against you is a major fucking weakness. Can you imagine what a prison guard or a warden could get out of you if they held back your drugs? What if an Aryan Brotherhood type took his pills and demanded a blowjob everyday for one pill at a time? What could Neal do about it? Tell on 'im? He'd be better off shanking himself."

El retorted, "There is some kind of law and order even in prisons. They couldn't just...do that."

Neither man had the guts to look her in the eye.

Shaking her head, El said, "Something should be done about it."

"That was the main reason I wanted Neal to be sent to Super Max. In Super Max, he had his own cell. They all do. He spent very little time without direct supervision from the guards but, in some cases, the guards are just as dangerous as the inmates, honey." Peter explained.

"So now what?" Moz said. "You gonna tell me that your boss will just smile nice and tell Neal that it is okay that he has a medical condition that requires daily medication? A condition that maybe could cause him to pass out in the middle of one of your sting operations?"

El said stridently, "No, he is going to have the surgery to correct his condition. He should have had it years ago."

"Yeah, we were going to do it, but your husband happened," Moz explained. "Neal and I talked it through. We were going to construct a good clean alias and have him check into the best Swiss hospital for the surgery, but then Burke almost caught Neal. We were running ragged and there was no time. I could barely keep him in medication."

"How did he get his medication in prison?" Peter wondered aloud.

"Kate brought it in. She's good with the subterfuge. She knew how to get it across to Neal. Which is the one of the many reasons Neal choose to escape with three months to go. With no medication, he had a bad episode. He was lucky it was late at night between bed checks," Moz said.

Peter's eyes widened as he put this together. "She took off, knowing he needed her to smuggle medication to him?"

"Yeah," Moz said. "Yeah, she did."

"I do not like this Kate," El said bitterly. "I know I thought it was sweet and romantic when you told me about Neal running after her, but now, now, I'd like to slap her face. If it was you, Peter, I would have found some way to break you out."

"She would," Peter said, laughing now.

Moz said, "So can I go see him now?"

"Yeah, I'll take you there, if you want." Peter said.

To his surprise, Moz accepted the offer.

OooOooO

Neal was doing better. Sitting up, he was reading a pamphlet about the WPW operation. He smiled wanly at Moz and said, "Hey, Moz."

"You idiot," Moz shot back. "I told you 'no undercover' work. Burke told me what happened."

Peter smirked and stepped around to the left side of the bed. Folding his arms, it was clear he was going to enjoy this conversation. He wanted a better understanding of the dynamic between Moz and Neal. Here was his chance to view it, first hand.

"It wasn't that exactly. I had a mild spell when Mata Hari pulled a gun on me, but what really landed me here was Peter dragging me to see a doctor. Did he tell you that?" Neal explained.

Turning on Peter, Moz said, "What the hell part of minimizing stress did you miss?"

"Hey, what about you? Your concern for Neal never seemed to stop you from helping him work his operations when you were his main man and the cash was flowing in," Peter shot back.

"Guys? Like I said before, I am right here," Neal said. "Look at me."

Peter and Moz obeyed. Neal said, "I am a grown up, capable of making my own decisions and some of them were stupid ones, no matter how bright I am."

It took a moment, but Peter had to agree. It was Neal's decision. Not that Peter wouldn't push the point next time, now that Neal was his in nearly every sense of the word.

"Although you would have a better chance of making me listen if you were on the same team," Neal said, hopefully.

Eying Moz, Peter said, "I think we are. Team Neal."

"Thanks, Peter," Neal said.

"I'm going to leave Moz here to visit. Take it easy," Peter said.

"What are you going to tell Hughes?" Neal said.

"That you had some complications from being oxygen deprived and are in for some tests," Peter said. "That way he won't ask too many questions. He worries about you being injured on the job. Legal responsibility and all."

"Oh, good con, Peter," Neal admired.

"El and I will be back later to see you," Peter said.

"Do that," Neal said.

When Peter looked back, Moz was sitting on Neal's bed, holding his hand.

Good man, that Haversham.

OooOooO

There still was the matter of how to cover the time needed for Neal's operation and recovery time. One thing that Peter knew for sure was there would be no more undercover operations. He was going to make sure that any field work was only under the most controlled circumstances.

Neal was released two days later. He had his medication and was back to his old self, practically impossible, cheerful, and full of energy. Peter still hovered over Neal, asking him privately every day if he had taken his medication. Neal laughed it off, telling Peter that he should just write him some love notes. It would play better.

The afternoon he left the hospital, Neal had promised to call the doctor and schedule the surgery as soon as possible. Waiting for Neal at the front door of the hospital in the Taurus, Peter shook his head. Neal was being escorted out by what looked like half of the staff of the hospital. Putting the car in part, Peter came around to the passenger door and opened it. Taking the flowers, balloons and stuffed animals Neal had handed over to him, he watched as Neal said goodbye to each nurse, orderly and a few doctors, all by name.

He is a true artist, Peter mused.

After helping Neal into the car, Peter hesitated before starting the car. "El is making something with homemade pasta and so many vegetables that it took me two trips to get them in from the car," Peter said. "You are having dinner with us in case I hate it and have to sneak it to Satchmo."

"Oh, come on," Neal said, laughing. "I have never yet known El to cook anything I didn't like."

"She experiments," Peter said, trying for doleful.

"Peter Burke, you are trying to con me," Neal said. "El just wants to feed me, doesn't she?"

"Okay, we're caught," Peter said. "Still, I almost had you with the Satchmo bit."

"Yeah, you're getting better at stretching the truth," Neal said.

"Lying," Peter said.

"Semantics," Neal brushed away. "Is Moz invited?"

Rolling his eyes again, Peter said, "I suppose so but that's going to put a major cramp in my plan for trapping you on the couch and molesting you. If you're up for it, that is. The doctor didn't put any limitations on physical activities, right?"

Now Neal was surprised. Was Peter serious? Neal said, "No, he didn't. And what would El be doing while you work your magic on me?"

"Helping me molest you," Peter said.

"Moz can get his own hot married couple in that case," Neal said.

Peter chuckled.

Neal wasn't sure if Peter was serious, but thinking about it made his heart race. Damn. He took out his daily pill minder to make sure he had taken his Amiodarone at noon. The slot was empty so Neal guessed it was just the idea of a romantic interlude with Peter and El that caused his palpitations.

The question about Peter's seriousness was answered two lights later when Peter casually put his hand on Neal's thigh. Peter looked over, smiled, and said, "No, I was not kidding. If all you want is dinner, that's fine, but if you want more, we want it too."

"I want," said Neal.

OooOooO

El's dinner was marvelous. Neal would have eaten more of it, but the thought of what would happen after dinner was more tantalizing. He toyed with the idea of a glass of wine. Doctor Hudson had wanted him to cut back on his drinking. Before he could make his decision, Peter reached over as they sat on the couch and took the glass away. Neal should have resented it but he was too distracted to care. El was wearing a violet dress that was low cut and clinging as a wisp of sea foam. Neal could not take his eyes off her.

"Hey, watch where you're looking," Peter said.

Startled, Neal stared at Peter.

Grinning, Peter took Neal's face in his hands and said, "I want you to look at me. Better yet, I want to kiss you right now."

A man of his word, Peter kissed Neal. His hand cupped Neal's face. He was so gentle. Neal wrapped his arm around Peter's neck and kissed him more deeply. Forget about gentle. Neal's kiss was about wanting for too long, about the fear of losing what he had never had, about needing more than he ever had ever needed before.

Neal had momentarily forgotten about El. She reached for him from behind and Peter turned Neal toward El, smiling, so strong, so in charge, as if he was giving Neal to his wife. Neal went with it. This was lovely.

Neal expected to lead with El, but she wasn't having that. She was more forceful than Peter. It was different, but Neal liked it. He let his hands stray, feeling the curves he had often admired. Peter was kissing his neck, over and over on the place right behind his ear that was so sensitive. Neal didn't know how Peter had found that spot so quickly, but it was fantastic.

Passivity had never been Neal's role as a lover; he strived to be the best in bed as he did everywhere in his life. He was a perfectionist despite his high wire life style or perhaps because of this. However, Peter and El weren't given him the chance to think about what they wanted; instead they showed him. He felt as if he had drunk all the wine in that bottle and then some.

Satchmo's whining and his paw on Neal's knee brought them to their senses. Peter glared at his dog and said, "Crate."

Satchmo obeyed, head down, paws heavy. Peter laughed and pointed. "He looks like you the first time I told you to fetch a file."

"I think he was trying to protect Neal," El said, "or sympathizing. You were moaning, Neal."

"I was not!" Neal said. "I would know if I was."

Peter nodded and said, "You were. Now let's go upstairs."

OooOooO

Hughes called both Neal and Peter to his office the next morning. He had a report in his hand with the logo of St. Vincent's.

Shit, Peter thought.

"You want to tell me why Mr. Caffrey's condition was not reported to me?" Hughes said.

"I take full responsibility, Sir," Peter said.

"No, it's my fault," Neal said. "I begged him not to."

"Stop," Hughes said, shaking his head. He had a stack of records on his desk. "I've been reviewing these, every case you worked on since the Dutchman. Great investigations. They were enormously successful cases too. I've also researched the surgery Mr. Caffrey needs. High success rate on that too."

"Just a minute, sir. How did you get that medical report?" Peter said.

"I found it on my desk today. It did not arrive in the interoffice mail. My assistant did not see anyone leave it. It's a little disturbing," Hughes admitted. "The obvious intent was to discredit you, Agent Burke, and to induce me to order you back to prison, Mr. Caffrey."

Hughes looked coldly at both of them, and then he shook his head. "I don't care to be manipulated, not by you two and not by whoever left this for me."

Hughes paused and then stated, "Have the surgery, Mr. Caffrey. If you are able to perform at the same level as you did prior to it, then I see no reason to change your contract. I would not send you back to prison if you had been shot on the job and I will exercise my discretion and consider this a work-related injury, considering you were asymptomatic until the incident in the vault."

"Thank you," Neal said.

"Go make arrangements," Hughes said. "I want you to have the surgery as soon as possible and be back on duty as soon as you have clearance. This is a chance I am giving you because you have been useful, and I'd like to give you a chance to continue being useful."

Neal understood he was being dismissed. He glanced at Peter with sympathy, but knew enough at this point not to argue with Hughes when the man had just given him a reprieve.

Peter gave him a small smile look, but turned back to Hughes with a resigned sigh.

OooOooO

When the day of the surgery arrived, Neal felt like running. His tracker was off for his stay at the hospital as Dr. Hudson did not want it interfering with equipment in surgery. He was medicated, shaved, painted with antiseptic. Peter and El were with him. Peter held one hand and El the other. Neal knew that Moz was freaking out in the waiting room, but did not want to come in to Neal's room once they prepared him for surgery. You have to understand Moz to be his friend. He would have made himself be here if Neal had been alone, but since Neal had Peter and Elizabeth, Moz had spared himself. Moz fears hospitals almost as much as he hated prison.

Peter's hand stroked Neal's hair over and over. It felt good in a blurring kind of way, as did El's lips on his forehead. Dimly, Neal heard his lovers being told to leave. If the drugs weren't so efficient, he might have panicked.

The world was mostly cotton wooly. Neal couldn't feel much. He blearily looked at the ceiling as they moved slowly down the corridor. A nurse spoke to him, but the words ran together.

Neal felt hands lift him onto the table and he slipped away then. For one moment, he dreamed of Kate smiling one Paris morning but when he reached for her hand, she metamorphosed into Peter. It was all right. It was really all right because it was all about love for him and Peter was love.

OooOooO

The good part about waking up, besides having survived the surgery, was seeing Peter and El. Peter said, "Hey, gonna stay lit this time? You've been in and out a couple times, for a few seconds here and there."

Neal didn't remember that at all. They had gone in through his groin with the catheter. He could feel something odd in the general area but there was no pain.

"Am I good?" Neal asked. He said, "Did they fix it?"

"Everything went well," El reassured.

"How long will I have to stay?" Neal asked. Doctor Hudson said some people were allowed to go home the same day.

"You have to be here overnight since you didn't wake up right away," El said.

"Stay with me?" Neal asked.

"Wouldn't think about leaving," Peter said. "Except that Moz looks like he is about to climb the walls if he doesn't see you."

"Send him in," Neal said. "Moz, you know, Moz tries to be so cool, but he worries."

"Yeah, I get that," Peter said. He kissed Neal, just a peck, but Neal noticed it was just like he kissed El. Wow!

El followed suit except she kissed Neal on his lips then on his cheek and followed with a gentle, yearning stroke along his cheek.

Having a moment to look around, Neal smiled at all the flowers, plants, banners. Silly since he was only going to be here the one day, but Neal appreciated it anyway.

Moz came into the room and sat on the chair. He was clutching the least favorite of Neal's hats. Neal looked at it and decided not to mention it. "You okay?"

"I hope I'm better than okay," Neal said. "No more medication. No more worrying about passing out at the most inopportune moments."

"That's good," Moz said. "Guess you won't need me so much anymore." Moz's eyes looked shiny and his mouth turned down.

"Not need you? Moz, I always need you," Neal said. "You're my go to guy. Always will be."

"Yeah?" Moz asked, taking off his glasses to polish them on his shirt.

"You're my legs and my sounding board," Neal assured. "Couldn't imagine life without you."

"That's true," Moz said. He smiled. "Yeah, Burke knows that too. Knows that we're a team, beauty and brains."

"You're the pretty one, right?" Neal teased.

"Right," Moz said. He stood up and put the hat on Neal's chest. "I brought you a hat. I didn't want you to go home half naked without one. You going to be with the Burkes for a while?"

"Yeah, I'm supposed to take it easy," Neal said.

"I'll check on you. Make sure you're not handcuffed to the bed," Moz said, heading for the door. He glanced back and added, "or at least not non-consensually handcuffed to the bed. I know you and your cops and robbers games."

"Go, Moz," Neal ordered, not blushing at all.

OooOooO

Home. More or less, Neal thought, rubbing Satchmo's ears. He was propped on the couch, the TV playing 'Robin and the Seven Hoods' on DVD, from Neal's collection. Peter and El were both at work although one or the other called him every hour on the dot to make sure he was resting and not up to any "shenanigans'.

El was coming home to make Neal lunch. It made Neal think about a nooner until he remembered how sore his groin was. It was typical spin of lady luck that he was in this warm, loving, sexy relationship with the man and woman of his dreams and unable to even consider sex. No, that was not true, Neal considered. He had suggested that he could think of a millions things to do that did not involved putting any stress on his incision but both of his beloveds said 'no'.

To his surprise, Peter showed up with lunch instead of El. Neal woke up on the guest bed where he had broken the house rules by inviting Satchmo up to sleep with him.

"Ah, I can explain," Neal said.

"You figured you would wake up in time to order Satchmo down. First Jones, now you've turned my dog into a malcontent. I should corrupt Moz in revenge," Peter said.

"Good luck with that," Neal said.

"Point taken," Peter said. "Ready for lunch? El has a new client who insisted she meet with him today. The way her business is going, we could both end up being kept men."

"Oh, I like that idea," Neal said, accepting Peter's hands to pull him up. The double grip reminded him of Peter taking his hands when Neal offered him the oxygen container.

By the time Neal washed his face and hands, Peter had served lunch, which was Thai food from the less spicy side of the menu.

"How you feeling?" Peter asked.

"Good, I can hardly feel the incision," Neal said. "No reason why we couldn't have some fun tonight."

"You're eager," Peter said. "But we're not until you have asked Doctor Hudson."

"You want me to get a permission slip before we make love?" Neal said.

"Yes, I want it as much as you do," Peter said.

"I don't think so," Neal said. "You have El."

"And you have had...well, who haven't you had?" Peter said.

Neal lowered his eyes.

Peter cocked his head, studying his beloved.

"Something you want to tell me?" Peter asked, leaning on the table toward Neal.

Would Peter think it was amusing? Neal took a quick breath and went with the truth for once.

"Haven't been with anyone since Kate," Neal confessed. He took a glance at Peter's face and then evaded his eyes again.

"Thank you," Peter said.

Neal looked up to see Peter's face. He saw softness, shining wonder, and tenderness.

"Thank you for letting us be the ones," Peter said.

"I told you," Neal said, "Flirting is harmless, but to me, having sex, that's about love. Without love, it means nothing."

Peter reached for Neal's hands, took them in his own as if Neal was offering him life in them again. He kissed Neal's hands, finger by finger, unfolding the nervous fists that Neal had made.

"Thank you again," Peter said, "For the gift of your trust. For the gift of you."

Neal's heat skipped a beat and it wasn't the return of anything except the long lost sense of being loved whole-heartedly.

A moment later, they were eating lunch, squabbling over their ideas about the new case waiting at the office. That too was love.

The end


End file.
